Every Rose Has It's Thorne
by darkredmacabre
Summary: It's all Thorne's fault his parents are dead. All his fault. Georgie /Thorne


-Prologue-

The dark, reclusive room had no lighting other than the small crack provided by the opening in his drapes. Almost nothing could be made out, the color surrounding the pale skin of him a rich charcoal. He reclined on his bed, the smoke from his never-ending supply of cigarettes making it hard to see, the air being thick with the smoke. From somewhere around the room, small speakers played Marilyn Manson softly, the compositions that played no more than background noise to the lounging form of Georgie seen through the hazy smoke-filled air, being utterly absorbed in his thoughts. .He lay on his back, against an arrangement of pillows, staring at the ceiling lost in thought, of friends come and gone.

_Evan. Henrietta. Ike. His former best friend, turned jock. Their images flashing before his eyes, briefly before they floated away too. All the while Georgie had never minded, he thought as he lazily blew out the smoke. It was nice while it lasted, the idea of friendship, they were never that close to him, Evan and Henrietta were obviously attracted to each other, and had soon ignored him entirely, and just sat there talking. Ike had been watching the sports field, the idea of which Georgie found entirely amusing and terrifying at the same time. Ike had left their small group soon after, and it had just been him, Evan, and Henri. He remembered staring up at the blue sky, through the cover of the trees surrounding their shady lunch area back around the school. He chain smoked back then, just staring at the sky, his knees hugged to his chest, his body draped in black, sinking into the shadows behind him, his white skin standing out like blood on white cloth. It was almost eerie, as with the smoky cloud that surrounded him. _

_Pretty soon he had noticed that Henri and Evan had ditched school, and eventually they stopped hanging out altogether. _

_He remembered sitting on Henri's bed, hugging his knees to his chest, sitting and listening as Evan and Henri continued an argument they had long forgotten. He briefly remembered hearing his name and the quiet agreement that he was too young to join them in most of their 'older' activities. He loathed being seen as the youngest, unable to do anything._

_He reminisced, he had internally shot them a fierce look inside and glared daggers at them both, but outside he merely smiled softly, so as if to say '_yeah. I'm too young for anything.'

He internally scoffed, they never noticed, how he always had a mask on. He kept his shield up so perfectly, he could hardly tell the difference anymore. He wondered if he ever would let his mask down, even slightly, again; or if ever. He had yet to meet a friend that meant something to him, something more than another being that crossed his path and soon left. Deep down, as hard as Georgie tried to deny it, he hoped someone would come very soon.

The frosty air burned his lungs. The cars that littered the streets and driveways all had a thin film of condensation on them. The houses he passed all had one or more lights on, and if he were to listen he would hear the warm conversation that his neighbors shared in their living rooms, the fireplace filling the house with warm, toasty feelings. Of course, when he walked by, they would stop, and glare at him. But this was nothing new, as he just ignored them and continued walking evenly down the sidewalk.

Music blaring from the confines of his headphones is heard wafting along the sidewalk.

A lone figure clad in black travels along the sidewalk, head cast down in thought, hands shoved in pockets of his trench coat. His soft footsteps moved ghostly along the sidewalk.

As he got closer, his appearance could be made out clearer.

Extremely pale skin, medium length black hair, layers teased with bangs covering one of his eyes, eyebrow and nose piercing, heavy eyeliner, a solemn and slightly cold eyes, a blank expression adorned his face. He was extremely slim, appearing skin and bones, with long boney fingers, nails covered in black nail polish.

Icy breath could be seen wafting in and out of his nostrils.

He walks slowly, as with reluctance.

After some time, he stops, in front of a large, extravagant two story house. The yard was what one would consider 'perfect condition'. All the hedges trimmed down to a square shape. The trees all trimmed, perfectly shaped. The house itself was furnished in rich colors, with a glass front door, with white frames. Behind the initial door was a dark cherry wood door, adorned with a door handle of the same shade as the door.

He supposed it would have been nice to call his home, if he were in any other situation.

Floating through his mind was an image of the Wakiyama's, his foster parents. The raging face of his foster father, the disdainful and amused look of his foster mother. Of course, he didn't think of them as family. Family is those who care and love you. This was not his family. His family was dead. And in a way, so was he.

He stared at the house in front of him and placed his hands in the pocket of his coat, and thought about the house before him. A house full of people knows don't care about him. Who despise him. Who ignore him. Who hate him. As such, the house before him is just that, a house. His room is his home, as close as he can get it, where he doesn't have to hide anything.

Pausing the music blaring through his head phones, the screeching tones of some metal band stopped, silence following. He put it away into his bag, wistfully sighing.

With obvious reluctance he glances up, sighs once again, and makes his way towards the entrance of the house.

The house is quiet, no sound made by human presence, other than the soft breath of himself.

He stands there for some time, making sure the house is indeed empty. Empty of the monsters that lurk in the shadows, which look at him with gleaming red eyes, eyes filled with anger and loathing. Of disgust and disdain.

Nodding in reassurance, he drops his bag carelessly by the stairs, smirking at the disgusted looks he would receive for leaving his belongings in sight, and walks into the kitchen.

Rummaging through the cupboards, he searches for his everlasting addiction: coffee.

Readying a cup of black coffee from the coffee machine in the corner of the kitchen, he takes a small sip, sighing in contentment as the strong, bitter taste flowed over his tongue. Taking the full cup with him, he retrieves his bag, and slowly ascends the stairs.

Past door after door, he stops at the last one, and digs in his pocket for the key, hastily turning the key and pushes open the door.

Black on black walls, carpet too. His double bed wrapped in a red comforter. Dark pillows adorning the bed, a rather large skull pillow as well. His guitar is in the corner, along with his bass and amp, next to his shadowy leather couch under the small closed window. Along the same wall is his dresser. A small connected bathroom lies on the other wall, the black door shut. On the other side of his bed was his desk, a small black table, covered in music- piles of sheet music, half filled out and randomly placed notes, CDs of rock and metal classics, vinyl, his speakers for his red shuffle iPod, and his lyrics various surfaces around the room were candles, his preferred light source-there being no artificial lighting such as lamps, and an overhead light all of which were conventionally removed, the wires to the overhead light frayed and sticking out on the ceiling. On the black plastered walls were various band posters, covering much of the black walls with their dark, artistic pictures.

Comfort.

That's what his room holds.

Taking another sip of the dark liquid, he placed the cup on his desk and removed his boots.

Placing his bag just inside the door, and removing hisblack trench coat, he withdrew the charcoal lighter in his pocket and began lighting candles gathered in clumps about his room. He preferred candles, the soft glow of the flame surrounding him, lighting his room in flickering slivers of light. After that task was completed, he plugged in his iPod and blasted his music. The loud, screeching tones of Marilyn Manson could be heard throughout the house. To the neighbors and anyone who heard the music it was an unwelcome annoyance, the harsh sound waves disrupting their lives. As such, he found it funny, and often turned it up too loud to piss them off. But to Thorne, it was a calming, the music he listened to one of the only constant things in his life.

He reclined on his bed, blatantly avoiding his thoughts, rather becoming absorbed in the music, all the while taking sips from his precious coffee.

After a while a car pulled up to the driveway, screeching to a halt. He waited in anxious silence, getting up and turning off his music, to await the entrance of the being coming into the house.

The front door opened, there were no sounds from the drunk, he released a small breath, as it appeared he was in luck tonight. He relaxed slightly, turning his music back on, turning the volume down until it was a few levels above background level and reclining on his couch.

Mrs. Wakiyama pulled her car into the driveway ad entered the house. Mr. Wakiyama's car pulled into the driveway soon after, and he headed to his office as was customary, murmuring to his wife that he had work to do and would be in his office.

Mrs. Wakiyama walked up the stairs, her hands and arms loaded with shopping bags. As she reached the top she miffed with disdain in the direction of Thorne's room briefly before continuing towards her luxurious bedroom, silks the common fabric adorning the bed, chairs and pillows. She sighed in annoyance; Thorne was a pest, plainly put. Pushing thoughts of the whelp aside, ridding herself of thoughts of that annoyance, she set down her bags and purse, and walked over to the mirror above her dresser. She fixed her hair and adjusted her outfit making sure she was neat and pristine before she descended the stairs and walked into the kitchen to prepare dinner.

Setting a pot full of water on the stove, she waited for it to boil. She began slicing parsley, and opened the fridge, then pantry, removing the bowl of meat sauce, spaghetti, mizithra cheese, butter, and milk and carried them over to the island. The pot of water now boiling, she began preparing the noodles. Placing the meat sauce in a large bowl in the microwave she moved back to the counter. Fetching a cheese grater, she grated a considerable amount of cheese, and put it on a plate. Getting out another small pan, she melted the butter as if to create a fine spread on the bottom of the pan. Taking the plate of cheese, she flipped it upside down causing the contents to fall into the pan. She began to sauté the cheese. That completed, she scooped out the cheese and set it back onto the plate. Reaching into the cupboard, she grabbed two white medium sized lipped bowls and set them on the counter. Draining the noodles, she served a decent amount into each bowl for both her and her husband. Removing the meat sauce from the microwave, she spooned out an adequate amount on half of the noodles of each plate. Grabbing a small glass container from the cupboard, she cut four tablespoons of butter, placed it in the bowl, and situated it in the microwave to be melted. The microwave '_dinged'_ and she removed the small bowl. She poured half of the butter on each plain half of spaghetti, to create a surface for the cheese to stick to, moistening it. She daintily spooned the cheese onto the now butter-covered noodles. Turning back to the sliced up parsley, she pinched a small amount and placed the portion onto the middle of each plate. Reaching up into the cabinet to acquire two small crystal glasses, she filled them up halfway with milk. Pulling out two forks from the silverware drawer, and napkins from the island, she placed hers on the table in her place, retrieved her meal and glass and set them there as well. She went back to her husband's meal, picked up the plate, glass, silverware and napkin and carried it towards his office.

When she walked in, he had a frown on his face, as he sat studying his computer. Smelling the delicious aroma of his dinner, he looked up and smiled at her. He looked back down and concentrated on his screen again. His stomach rumbling the only indication he was ready for the meal. Smiling to herself, she walked around the desk, and placed it on the empty space next to him. She kissed him on the cheek and looked over his shoulder at what he was working on. He was typing a letter complaining about the incompetent employees his business had and rather impolitely asking for more accomplished replacements to the mayor, as he requested. '_Of course,' _she thought. '_My husband will settle for no less than the best.'_ Once again he was deep in thought, so she left quietly.

As she returned to the kitchen she saw Thorne, getting himself a helping of the dinner. She ignored him, returning to her place at the table. Of course Thorne dropped his fork, and she stared coldly at him.

_Insolent whelp. Can't even keep hold a fork without dropping it onto the floor. _She thought, not acknowledging the fact that the boy was probably scared of her and her husband.

He only glanced over at her, picked up the fork, washed it, and returned to getting his meal.

Thorne heard Mrs. Wakiyama preparing dinner, and his stomach growled. He never ate lunch at school; it would just end up on him anyways.

*_flashback to lunch period that day*_

_Thorne had been walking with his head down, his eyes to his feet. He missed the foot in front of him, and tripped on it, landing on a person. He didn't want to look up, he knew it would be no one special, just a jock determined to push him down. He was right, it was. A fist flew towards him and crashed into his stomach, and he gasped for breath, but was thrown off of the jock soon after, still not having a chance to breathe. He hit the concrete, and winced as his shoulder was dislocated. He knew the jock was done for now, so he had stood up and slowly walked to his usual lunch spot in the back of the school before he remembered that Georgie had skipped school that day and would not be joining him. He turned around, back towards the school, and went inside the back way, through the small connecting alley He silently walked through the halls towards his next class when he saw a figure move out of the shadows. He had been slammed into the lockers, his wrist had been sprained, he had been surrounded by the jock's friends, and they had taken turns kicking him. Of course, this was his daily beating, however this one was not as harsh, and he hadn't woken up in the bathroom, having been unconscious, with Georgie next to him. Still, he was tired and sore._

*_end of flashback_

He stood up from his bed and grabbed his mug, walked out of his room and down the stairs. He waited out of sight until he saw Mrs. Wakiyama walk out with Mr. Wakiyama's meal. He hurried into the kitchen to grab a serving for himself. Reaching into the cabinet, he grabbed a decent spoonful of noodles, covered them in a small serving of sauce, and with the little remaining cheese, placed it on top. He turned and grabbed a fork, looking up briefly, only to be met with a steel cold glare from Mrs. Wakiyama. She just sat there, glaring at him. Somewhere in the few seconds they stood motionless, Thorne dropped his fork. He inwardly frowned, bent down and picked up the fork, and turned back around to wash his fork, ignoring the persistent glare he could feel burning holes in his head. Ignoring her, he got the milk from the fridge and poured it in a glass, and returned the milk upon its shelf. He had wanted to drink re-heated coffee, but he didn't want to draw Mr. Wakiyama's attention towards him, that never ended well for Thorne. Thorne sighed reluctantly, deciding he would face the consequences for his coffee and picked up the half full pitcher of coffee he had made earlier, and placed it in the microwave. As he was waiting, he started eating, much to the displeasure of Mrs. Wakiyama who scoffed in disgust and looked away. It seemed that whatever he did disgusted her. He was half done with his food, having scarfed it down in order to quickly remove himself from the kitchen and Mrs. Wakiyama's presence and retreat back to his room when the microwave '_dinged'_ signaling his beloved coffee was heated up. Picking back up his mug from the island he poured the remains of his coffee before setting the pitcher into the sink to be washed. He set his mug back on the island before taking a small sip of milk and returning to his meal. Once again eating quickly, he finished the meal in good time and downed the glass of milk in a few gulps. He placed his dishes into the sink before picking up his coffee and heading back up to his room.

As he was walking out he heard Mrs. Wakiyama mutter "perhaps you'll drink too much of that coffee one day and die in an accident when you do something stupid" he shrugged it off, it was the fact that they hadn't taken away his coffee that made him close to happy.

When he arrived in his room, he turned around to shut the door, once again turning only to be greeted with the sight of his best friend, Georgie, lounging on his couch.

Georgie too was clad entirely in black, a fact which they both found solace in. Unlike Thorne, Georgie's hair was flat, though it did point out in random directions occasionally.

He smiled inwardly, a familiar sight met his eyes, and Georgie was staring at the floor, his hands resting casually in his lap, his shoulders hunched, as if trying to make himself appear smaller than he already was. When he heard the door open, Georgie looked up, no expression adorning his face, merely staring at Thorne, obviously waiting for him to start the conversation.

Thorne rolled his eyes, Georgie preferred not to talk as often as he could.

"What are you doing here, Georgie?" asked Thorne.

Georgie merely pulled out his cigarette package, opened it and pulled out a cigarette, lifting the one visible eyebrow in silent question towards Thorne. Who in return reached into the pocket of his jeans, grabbed the requested lighter, and tossed it to him.

Thorne just shrugged and walked over to his bed, reclining on the pillows with his hands behind his head, staring at Georgie and raising an eyebrow almost unnoticeably.

He hadn't expected Georgie to respond; he doesn't typically respond through words, he has his own way of communicating.

But to his surprise, Georgie blew out the smoke and murmured, "Parents fighting again… figured I'd leave..."

In response Thorne nodded his head, and stood up, walking over to Georgie. He leaned over him to climb out the window.

Georgie now understanding stood up as well. He waited while Thorne climbed down a ways before sitting on the sill and waiting again for Thorne to jump down.

It was brisk out, as usual for this time of year. He heard Thorne curse quietly, and looked down. Thorne was standing there with his arms wrapped around himself. He tried to shrug it off and looked up, but Georgie knew him well enough to know he was freezing. Sometimes the cold was an annoyance. He rolled his eyes, turned around and walked over to Thorne's bed, snatching up his coat. He threw it out the window, knowing Thorne would catch it, before he slowly climbed out and down the house. Thorne sighed impatiently, and as Georgie neared, Thorne snatched the bottom of his jacket and pulled, breathing out a laugh as Georgie gasped in surprise.

When he landed, he regained his composure, his face settling into his signature blank face, and softly pushed Thorne, who smirked at him with laughter in his eyes.

Georgie shoved his hands in his pocket, walking in the direction of the park. Thorne followed, hands shoved in pockets as well.

The street they walked down had light poles every few feet, or so it seemed. There was too much light in his opinion. Everything was quiet; the world around them was asleep. Large trees covered the sidewalk much of the sidewalk, creating odd patterns of light and dark on the cold cement. Unlike Thorne who generally didn't mind artificial lights, he despised them. It brought false feelings. Feelings of "comfort". Georgie preferred the dark; to him it brought comfort and safety.

As Georgie obviously spaced out, Thorne merely meandered along the sidewalk, calmly walking to the park.

The park. At midnight and the early house of the morning, it was quiet, calm. No little kids screaming in their little imaginary worlds. No adults glaring at them reproachfully watch their every move. To put it simply, it got annoying. Of course they simply ignored it, but it was impossible to ignore the glares aimed at them.

They frequented the park. Especially in the snow, they found solace in the icy world, however temporary. The ground blanketed in the fluffy looking powder. However cold to the touch, they never seemed to mind it. They sat at the edge of the pond, their backs to the play structure. They never really acknowledged the snow that seeped into their black jeans. Thorne smirked; he would sit there, blowing out the smoke of his cigarette through his nostrils, deflecting the chill of the icy air. Georgie usually found him there, staring at the frozen pond, lost in thought. He would sit beside him and stare out as well. They never spoke a word, merely providing the comforting presence of another. He glanced down at Georgie, and inwardly smiled.

Georgie was pulled out of his thoughts as he realized they were at the park. He felt eyes on him, and glanced up at Thorne. The corner of his mouth pulled up slightly before he turned away and walked over to the swings. They both sat down on the swings, lightly moving back and forth. They didn't talk. Just sat there, they were in a place they felt safe. No outsiders to bother them.

After a while, Thorne got up, and leaned against a tree next to them. Georgie walked over, and raised an eyebrow.

"Coffee?" asked Thorne, already knowing the answer.

They were grateful there were restaurants and diners open 24 hrs. It being midnight. They walked to Denny's, their signature place. Typically they sat at Denny's and ordered coffee, the business in an old building; most didn't bother eating there, so it was almost always empty, silence their companion.

When they walked in, the waitress smiled at them, leading them to their booth. Everyone knew it was theirs; they were always there. As they sat down she walked back towards the kitchen, already knowing what they would order.

They sat there, relaxing into their seats, waiting. Smelling the bittersweet aroma of their coffee, they perked up, eagerly awaiting the arrival of the black liquid. The smile never leaving her face, the middle-aged woman placed their mugs in front of them, and left. They both glanced at each other, and rolled their eyes. They wondered how the woman was always smiling when there was so much wrong with the world. They sighed, taking a small sip of their coffee.

Thorne grasped the mug in his hand, inwardly relishing the warmth. He looked over to Georgie, who was staring at the black depths in his cup. He looked back to his own, it was already half gone. He finished it, and looked over at Georgie who also had the empty mug on the table.

They each pulled out their wallets and placed the money on the table before leaving and walking over to Georgie's place. Stopping in front of a small one story house, Georgie nodded goodbye before walking around and climbing in through his window.

Thorne sighed, and headed home. He slowly climbed up to his room, careful to keep quiet. He almost tripped over his couch; he always forgot it was there. He frowned and stepped around the couch. He walked over to his bathroom and opening the door, walked in and locked it. Stripping down to his jeans, he stared at his reflection.

Bruises marred his pale flesh. Their soft purple color evidence of how they were just forming.

He sighed, they'd be worse tomorrow.

Sighing, he decided to take a shower.

Toweling off his hair, he shook his head and used his hand to wipe away the light steamed surface of the mirror.

Deciding it was useless; he flipped on the fan and walked out of the bathroom into his room. He sat on the bed, putting his head in his hands.

Grabbing fistfuls of wet hair, he sighed, frustrated.

_Why did they do this to him?_

He pushed the thought away, he'd rather not think about it right now. So he stood up and walked back into the bathroom. The mirror was steam-free, so he flipped the fan back off, and reached under the counter to grab his blow dryer. Plugging it in, he turned his head upside down, and began vigorously drying his hair. Combing through it with his fingers, he turned his head up, keeping his hair in front of his face. He reached under the counter again, exchanging his blow dryer for the straightener. He straightened his hair, the process taking a little longer than he usually did… he'd accidentally dried it into a poufy mess, much to his amusement.

When he was done, he grabbed a comb from the drawer, combing it quickly before tossing it back and slamming the drawer shut. He unplugged the straightener but left it on the counter—he'd use it in the morning.

Walking calmly back into his room, he dressed in a small black t shirt, and gym shorts. He smirked; the school actually thought that he would participate in their physical education class? Right.

He promptly collapsed on the bed, and glanced at the clock. 3:00 a.m. it read.

Setting his alarm for 7 a.m. he fell asleep, keeping his mind blank.

After Georgie departed his side by Thorne, he climbed slowly and quietly back up to his room. He had hoped his parents had gone to bed, but he was wrong. They were still fighting. Loudly.

_Typical. _He thought, sighing.

Removing his iPod from his pocket, he shoved the ear buds in and turned up the music, drowning out his parents' shouting with the screaming of one of his favorite bands. He lay on his bed, looked at the clock, decided he didn't care, and fell asleep on his bed.

_._

_Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep._

_._

Came the sound of the high pitched noise of his alarm, tearing into his consciousness, setting his heart beating frantically. He groaned, shooting a glare at the clock, before crashing his hand down on it, stopping the noise.

Silence followed.

He lay there, staring at the ceiling. His mind wandered, and he winced as a memory surfaced, playing before his eyes.

_Glaringly bright headlights. The screech of tires. Piercing screams. Pained groans. Blood. So much blood. He couldn't see, and realized his eyes were shut, he squeezed them tighter, not wanting to see the sight he knew awaited his eyes._

He sat there, his eyes showing the torment, and he bit his lip, his hands clenching into fists as the brief pain allowed the memory's to recede back into the back of his mind, behind his wall. With shaking breaths he stood up, walked to his bathroom, and took a cold shower, careful not to get his hair wet. In a daze, he wandered about, mindlessly getting dressed. He gathered his bag and slowly meandered out the door.

He stumbled along the sidewalk, following the path he knew by heart. He stopped at Georgie's driveway, and walked over to a tree, leaning against it and waited.

The first thing Georgie heard was screeching vocals in his ear. He immediately sat up, his heart beating fast before he remembered he fell asleep on his bed with his music in his ears. Yanking the headphones out of his ear, he shoved them in his pockets of his jeans, joining his iPod. Looking around quickly, he glanced at the clock, looking away when he realized he was fine for time, that Thorne hadn't waited long. He opened his dresser drawer, grabbed a black and red striped long sleeve shirt, before grabbing a plain short sleeve black shirt and putting it on as well. He glanced out the window, saw Thorne staring at him, before he ducked back in and grabbing his stuff, quietly descended the stairs and out into the frosty morning.

Joining Thorne, he looked towards his companion, who had looked away and was now staring out at the still dark sky of the early morning, appearing to be deep in thought. He looked closely, and noticed he was trembling slightly.

Frowning slightly, Georgie walked closer, and wrapped his arms around Thorne's waist. He hugged him. He knew something was wrong, that it was something more that was troubling him.

Thorne, lost in his mind, was staring at the sky when he heard a muted door shutting. He felt the presence of his friend, before he felt Georgie's thin arms wrap around his waist. Coming back to reality at the contact, he looked down with saddened eyes, before closing them, sighing, and hugging him back softly.

Georgie, satisfied he was slightly better now, removed himself from his person and stepped back.

"Hey, come on, follow me" he heard Georgie say softly.

After a short while, they arrived at the gas station. He followed Georgie as he walked into the fluorescent lighting to retrieve the key for the bathroom. They walked around the back of the building before they entered the one person bathroom. Georgie turned around and pointed towards the mirror. Thorne knew what he wanted, so he stood there, and allowed him to fix him up.

Georgie didn't say anything, but silently set to work, pulling out his eyeliner and comb from somewhere in the depths of Thorne's bag.

Thorne stood there, staring blankly at the mirror.

Georgie looked at his friend, noticing how he had passed over his appearance. Looking at him closely again, he noticed his usual eyeliner was missing, and his hair was haggard, sticking up in all directions, and not in the way Thorne usually wore it.

Something was wrong. Thorne never spoke of what haunted him, but he knew it was torturing him.

He briefly remembered telling him to follow before they arrived at the gas station. Retrieving the key from the barely awake man at the counter, he walked around the building towards the one person bathroom. He knew they had a mirror in here, and that was all he needed. Thorne walked in behind him, though he could tell his mind was elsewhere.

Staring at Thorne, he waited until he placed his disheartened eyes on him, before he pointed towards the sink. A flicker of recognition passed his eyes and Thorne stumbled over to stand in front of it.

Georgie removed Thorne's bag from its position on his shoulders, and searched through the mess until he found what he was looking for: Thorne's eyeliner and comb. He always kept them in his bag.

Georgie worked quickly, making Thorne appear normal, how he usually looked from day to day.

Glancing at Thorne quickly the corners of his lips turned down slightly as he saw Thorne was still staring blankly back at his reflection. Nudging Thorne to signify he was done, Georgie picked up his bag and placed the items in his hand back in Thorne's. Thorne turned his blank gaze to him, a small hint of thanks in his eyes before it disappeared and he stalked slowly out of the bathroom. Georgie knew he would wait for him at the entrance to the small store, so he walked inside and returned the key before walking out and joining Thorne, standing at his side.

They both sighed, obviously unwilling to go to school. On any other day, they would just ditch school for the day, but Georgie knew that Thorne would get himself into an undesirable situation, and he didn't want to leave him alone.

Staring with vacant eyes in the direction of the school building Thorne walked with hesitant steps, dreading the hours he would be absorbed in his thoughts.

_I can't do anything, not with everyone watching… Georgie may or may not mind, but I still don't want to do it in front of him… no doubt he will be paying close attention to me today. _He thought with a sigh.

He felt Georgie nudge him lightly with his elbow, and he looked down towards his friend, waiting to see what he wanted.

"… I know something is wrong, and I won't press for you to answer…" Georgie said emotions concealed behind his mask. Thorne knew this was how Georgie showed his concern for his friend, and he simply nodded in response before looking at the ground, and stopping walking.

He looked down at the ground, and sighed. His entire being felt like in was attached to chains, the loose ends of the rings stabbing at him, they pulled him down to the ground, willing him to let go and give up.

He shook his head and continued walking.

"…I know something is wrong, and I won't press for you to answer…." He said quietly. It felt awkward, trying to show concern; he wasn't used to feeling it. He tried to keep everything locked away; they couldn't bother him there, unnecessary annoyances.

He stopped his sentence, unsure of what to say to try and comfort his hurting friend.

He watched as Thorne stared at the ground, seeming to see through it. He wasn't sure what to do; Thorne was never the one who acted like this, that was always him.

He stood there, unsure of what to do, remaining silent because there was no use in wasting energy by speaking nonsense.

They stood there like that for a bit, Thorne lost in his thoughts and Georgie contemplating what to do.

Thorne sighed, the sound a sign of his distress, before he walked to their school.

Georgie watched his friend dejectedly walk into the school and into his first class.

Georgie looked with saddened eyes in the direction of his friend before walking into his first class. He didn't care what the subject was; it was just another mandatory class the school taught them. He wasn't planning on attending some college for brainiacs; he didn't know what he wanted to do when he was older.

_But who does? _He thought bitterly.

He had his own problems to worry about, he couldn't focus on school much, for his thoughts and feelings he tried so hard to hide plagued him constantly.

Mr. Wakiyama was pissed. The imbecile's he worked with had screwed up once again. He saw red. The only person he could take it out on was that disgusting boy, Thorne. Glaring at the clock, he smirked; the boy should be home soon. He stood and waited by the front door.

He walked up to the door before pausing. It was deathly quiet. Not a good sign.

He reluctantly opened the door before a fist attached itself to his shirt collar, and pulled him inside. He heard a door slam before he was harshly let go of and pushed back.

A fist flew towards him, seemingly out of nowhere, and connected harshly with Thorne's jaw, flinging his head to the side. He gasped, having not expected the blow, and glanced towards the shaking body of which the fist belonged to in reflex reaction.

He felt a liquid fill up his mouth, and an urge to expel it. He spit it out and looked with blank eyes at the red liquid on the floor.

His head was snapped up as he felt a hand clench around his neck.

His eyes shot open only to be met with the furious ones of Mr. Wakiyama.

He gasped softly, barely audible. He couldn't breathe. Yet again.

He saw Mr. Wakiyama grin viciously.

Thorne felt his lungs starving for air, he would black out soon if he couldn't breathe. But he knew if he was to move and show emotion, Mr. Wakiyama would attack him aggressively.

Unexpectedly, Thorne was let go. He whimpered, his throat was sore already, now it was excruciatingly worse. In response to the noise, he was kicked repeatedly in the stomach. He held a groan back. He was once again picked up by the neck, but quickly released as he was thrown across the room. His wrist was slammed harshly against the sharp edge of Mrs. Wakiyama'sfurniture table, the sharp edges connecting with his wrist in a loud crack. He gasped softly, as his body continued its descent and his head slammed onto the dark cherry hardwood floor

He curled on his side, clutching his broken wrist to his chest and closed his eyes. He didn't want to see any more. A swift kick to his stomach sent pain blossoming over him. The kicks repeated until the pain was too much. He grinned; it was at this point where there was no pain. The smile adorning his face was that of a serial killer before they killed their victim. It was a sick, twisted smile.

The kicks to his bruised stomach stopped, Mr. Wakiyama having spent his energy. He heard his loud, crashing footsteps recede back into his office.

The twisted smile still on Thorne's face, he moved to stand up, ignoring the clenching pain felt throughout his body before he stumbled up the stairs and into his room. He collapsed on his bed, before letting sleep overtake him.

Georgie walked with Thorne to his house, watching his friend as he walked dejectedly up the driveway before he turned away and walked towards his house.

As he got to his house, he ignored his mother's cheerful greeting before removing his shoes and climbing up the stairs. He dropped off his stuff next to his door before he climbed back out the window and made his way back to Thorne's house.

_Something doesn't feel right, _he thought as he silently resolved to appear in Thorne's room and check on him.

When he arrived at the house, he stopped below Thorne's room. It was quiet.

Frowning slightly, he quickly climbed up and pushed himself over the ledge and narrowly missed tripping over Thorne's small black leather couch before he landed on Thorne's floor, catching his foot on the leg of the couch.

He grimaced in annoyance, lying sprawled out on Thorne's floor.

_Again? Why does he place this here, doesn't he trip over it too?_ He thought with a small sigh before righting himself off of Thorne's floor.

Sitting up, he looked around for Thorne, he saw him asleep on his bed holding his arm.

_Thorne doesn't sleep much at all…..something must have tired him out... _He stated.

Standing up he walked over to Thorne, perching on the edge of his bed.

Moving his eyes over Thorne's form he narrowed his eyes when they landed on his bandaged wrist.

… _How did he break it? _He thought as he felt anger arise for the sake of his friend.

He heard Thorne breathe in sharply, obviously in pain, and not from the idiots at school.

He looked up to his face, and watched Thorne's eyes open slowly, blinking before looking at him.

"I don't know something didn't feel right, so I dropped off my stuff my stuff at home before coming back here" he said quietly, looking down at his hands, answering the questioning look on Thorne's face.

He looked back up and stared at Thorne intently before saying "you got hurt…." asking Thorne an unspoken question.

In response Thorne closed his eyes before saying "I'm fine" with a raspy voice.

Georgie internally sighed, _just like him, to hide his feelings away, to hide what happened that hurt him. But if he won't tell, I won't press for answers._ He thought.

Georgie, hearing Thorne's raw voice stood up and walked into Thorne's bathroom, staring at the numerous objects adorning the counter before he caught sight of the small, clear crystal glass and filled it with water. He carefully walked back into the room and over to Thorne, handing him the glass in a silent demand.

Thorne nodded his thanks and took the glass with his uninjured hand and drank it carefully. Georgie grimaced again in frustration when he saw the reason for Thorne's voice- long purple finger marks adorning the sides of Thorne's neck. Thorne caught his glance, and merely shook his head.

Georgie ignored his thoughts, respecting Thorne's wishes and removed the glass from Thorne's hand and placing it down on the small table by Thorne's bed next to the silver skull with the red candle sticking out, and moved so he was sitting next to Thorne on the bed.

They didn't talk much at all, merely keeping the other company.

The colorful sky outside the window soon faded to dusk, lighting the room with an orangey glow. Dusk faded to night, replacing the light with darkness.

The room was dark; the only source of light the silvery streaks of moonlight shining through the open window.

Every object in the room appeared to be bathed in the silvery light.

Night found both boys asleep. Georgie, lying on his side facing Thorne. Thorne remaining on his back, his wrist carefully placed over his stomach, his head facing Georgie.

Morning found them in the same position; both not have moved an inch.

Georgie suddenly opened his eyes, allowing a sliver of light from the clock next to his bed to enter his eyes. However much to his surprise, it was dark, the light blocked by the sleeping form of Thorne. His eyes popped open as he remembered he had fallen asleep in Thorne's room last night.

He sat up quickly and stared at Thorne who had moved at the sudden movement.

Thorne slowly sat up and rubbed his eyes. He blinked and looked to Georgie who was sitting up looking around. He chuckled tiredly and said "you can wear some of my clothes you know".

Georgie looked over to him and the corners of his lips turned up. He watched as Georgie rummaged around through his drawers until he pulled out a black long sleeve shirt and another black short sleeve shirt with a silvery flaming skull on it.

He rolled his eyes and pointed to a drawer next to him as Georgie turned around and raised an eyebrow at Thorne, silently asking where his belts and chains were.

Georgie walked over towards the indicated drawer and pulled out a black and blue studded belt, a regular black leather belt. He took off his shirts from the night before and changed into Thorne's shirts. He took off his own black studded belt before putting the black leather belt through his belt loops, and the blue and black studded belt underneath it.

Thorne smirked as he noticed Georgie's hair; it was sticking up in irregular patches. Georgie noticed his stare and turned around before making use of Thorne's bathroom. He straightened his hair until it was stick-straight, his black bangs covering his eyes. Thorne looked at Georgie, returning the favor done to him yesterday, assessing his appearance, he stated "your bangs are longer..." in his almost silent voice.

Georgie merely flicked his head to the side, and his bangs were placed at an angle. Georgie never wore eyeliner; he always had his bangs covering his eyes.

Thorne nodded his head towards Georgie, he looked good now.

Sighing, Thorne got up and removed his shirt, and reached behind Georgie into his open drawer and pulling out a regular black short sleeve shirt pulled it on before pulling open another drawer and pulling out a red and black striped zip-up hoodie. He walked over to his bed and pulled out another black leather belt and a chain before attaching it to his belt loops over his belt.

He walked into his bathroom and straightened his hair again, before teasing the back until it stood up in spikes and styled his bangs so it lay across one of his eyes. Unlike Georgie he wore eyeliner and eye shadow every day, so he took a few minutes to apply a thick ring of eyeliner around his eyes before he used black shadow to add depth to his eyes.

He opened up his medicine cabinet and took out his silver nose ring and replacing it with a black spiked ring.

Looking into the mirror to check his appearance, he inwardly nodded and walked out of the bathroom to where Georgie sat perched on the edge of his bed.

He nodded as he walked out and Georgie stood up and waited by the couch before climbing out the window and down the side of the house. Thorne followed soon after grabbing his bag and descended the house towards Georgie's side. They stood there breathing in the frosty air before Georgie shivered slightly and pulled out a cigarette. He offered one to Thorne who gratefully took it and lit it, taking a deep drag, allowing the smoke to warm him before he exhaled and expelled the smoke through his nostrils.

They finished their cigarettes, before walking towards Georgie's house to pick up Georgie's school bag.

Georgie had to climb through his window and grab his bag before he walked down the stairs, ignoring the shocked look on his fathers face at his appearance before walking out the door and joining Thorne who once again stood reclining against the tree in his front yard.

Bitterly he thought, _what, had that man who claimed to be my father only _just_ noticed how I look?_ But he shook the thought out of his head and walked up to his friend.

They walked to school silently and before they knew it, they were standing at the corner of the school. Glancing at each other, they walked side by side into the school, ignoring the chorus of "emo!" "Go kill yourself!" "Fags" that were shouted at them as they walked by.

They each headed to their own classes, both not paying attention to the teacher whom paid them no attention.

The classes slipped by quickly, both of them surprised when lunch arrived.

Georgie walked towards his locker, leaving Thorne alone in his solitude.

Thorne walked around the back of the building, enjoying the silence, no voices tearing through the air.

He breathed in a large lung full of the cold crispy air. All the other students were in the cafeteria, ignorantly eating their lunches and loudly chattering with their friends.

He sighed at their ignorance before he sat down at his usual place and pulled out his iPod from his pocket along with his headphones.

Absorbed in music he pulled out his sketchbook and let his mind wander.

Looking down at the almost finished drawing he realized what it was, a pale bleeding hand crashing through thick, jagged edges of glass.

Unbeknownst to him Georgie had arrived, and he only realized his friend had arrived when he felt him put his chin on his shoulder to see his drawing.

He blankly heard Georgie simply said "ah, I see" before Georgie turned back to his bag to remove his iPod.

Thorne sighed, and put his sketchbook away in his bag, and stared down at the ground a few feet in front of them.

Out of the corner of his eyes he saw Georgie turn back toward Thorne and look at him, but he didn't want to answer his unspoken question.

Images flashed across his eyes, his vision burring as he a memory danced before his eyes._ Screaming tore through his consciousness, his eyes were closed but he didn't want to open them for fear of what he might see. He didn't feel any pain, though from the screeching of the metal and the glass shards were embedded deep within his arms and legs, he should have. He was beyond feeling pain then. Another piercing scream sounded his mother's voice. He peered through his lashes and instantly regretted it. His mother, who had been sitting next to him, was smashed against the windshield, obviously having forgotten to wear her seat belt. Her arm, covered in dark crimson red, dripping down her arm and onto the floor. Thick glass shards were sticking from her skin, embedded deeply in the ghostly pale flesh. _

_He closed his eyes. He didn't want to see it._

Thorne drew shaky breaths, and subconsciously hugged his stomach.

He felt Georgie place an arm around his shoulders, trying to comfort him.

He closed his eyes, a brief tortured emotion crossing his face before he willed it away, but he had a feeling Georgie saw it.

They remained like that for the rest of the lunch period.

Faintly they both heard the bell ringing signaling the end of their lunch, but they both remained where they were.

It wasn't like anyone would miss them, and Georgie wasn't about to leave Thorne alone right now.

The color still hadn't returned to Thorne's face, it was still ghostly pale.

Thorne paced about his room, his hands balled into fists.

He was still trembling slightly.

He sighed, gaining control again. He felt kind of bad leaving Georgie; he had stood up and walked home, leaving Georgie sitting at their lunch place. Thorne rolled his eyes, he wasn't going to worry, and he knew Georgie understood.

_Why are these memories coming back now? They… they haven't bothered me in a long time; I thought I pushed them down. But, happiness never lasts for long what did I expect?_ He thought, getting slightly angered with himself.

He turned around suddenly, pushing the play button on his speakers, his music blasted throughout the room, the powerful bass riffs traveled through him.

In these instances, this usually calmed him down-but not now.

He whimpered, resenting the sound as it left his lips. He trembled with fury, he saw red.

He screamed, not caring who heard. He was shaking; he looked around before he lunged at his desk.

His hands grabbed anything within reach; he tore open the cover of his poetry book and scrunched up the pages, before he tore them out one by one, before he tore the notebook in half, throwing the remains on the floor. He growled, before he stormed over to his walls, tearing down poster after poster, before he tired of that and sank to the floor.

He sat in a heap, staring down at the floor, covered in papers, the candles he had knocked over lay on their sides about the room like bodies that had given up. Thorne moved his eyes around the room, taking in the sight before him.

He got up and stumbled over to the bathroom counter; he turned on the water, and fisted his hair in his hands. He stared up at his reflection. Flat, dull blue eyes stared back at him. The face of a killer. Someone who should be punished. Someone who he hated. Someone who he despised.

A wave of anger washed over him, and he watched as his expression turned dark, quickly he smashed his fist into the mirror, staring in shock at his hand when he pulled it back, it was covered in blood, dripping onto the counter and the floor.

It calmed him, the powerful feelings once again pushed away, and he slowly walked through the piles of dead papers along his floor.

A figure clad in black walked through the ghosts of posters, candles, and objects of the like.

As he passed, blood dripped from the figure's hand onto the floor, like droplets of water, soaking into the papers. He walked slowly, with obvious sluggishness until he arrived at the clear circular space in the center of the room. He stood there staring at the floor for a long moment, before he sat cross legged in the circle.

He paid no mind to his hand, letting blood continue to drip off the lines of his hand and into his carpet.

Thorne didn't know how long he sat there in his own world of darkness, memories tormenting him.

He jumped slightly and his heartbeat spiked when he felt an arm around his shoulders. He glanced up in surprise, but calmed when he saw it was only Georgie. Sometime during his reminiscence Georgie had came over to check on him. He shrugged it off and turned his head back towards the floor.

They sat there in silence for a few minutes before Georgie said, "You left the water on." simply before he got up and walked over to the bathroom. Thorne watched as he paid no mind to the mirror and blood smeared on the counter, merely turning off the water and walking back over to where Thorne sat silently watching.

Georgie didn't say anything, though Thorne knew there had to be some questions he would have to answer, however he knew Georgie would never ask them.

Thorne watched as Georgie walked back into the bathroom and rummaged around through the drawers in his bathroom, removing various objects and setting them on the counter. Georgie poked his head around the door and looked at Thorne before pointing to the edge of the tub, where he wanted Thorne to sit.

Thorne watched as he gathered various objects from the cupboard and medicine cabinets, before setting them on the sink and turning to face Thorne. He sat on the toilet so he had access to both himself and the counter.

He decided to stare at the wall next to him, letting Georgie fuss about him.

_They shouldn't have died. I killed them. I killed them!_ He screamed, his hands clenching into fists, and he gasped as the shards of the mirror slid deeper into his skin.

He looked toward Georgie who was looking at him with a look of quiet thought.

"Try not to do that," Georgie said quietly trying to lighten the tense mood Thorne seemed to grasp onto.

Thorne merely rolled his eyes, the corners of his mouth twitching, the most he could do at the moment, as far as a smile went. He resorted to staring at the wall and counting_ 1, 2, 3… _as he waited for Georgie to finish.

_Like the arms on a clock, the seconds ticking by,_ he thought.

The bright green light on the dashboard, the sound of the engine as it sped up.

_1, 2, 3, 4 5, 6, 7…_ he counted fast, trying to block out the memories.

He inhaled sharply and looked at his hand, to where Georgie held a towel under it and dabbed alcohol on it, cleaning the surface with a cotton pad.

When Georgie heard the sharp intake of breath he glanced up at Thorne's face.

_Sorry. _He thought, hoping the message got through his eyes. He normally worked hard to retain his mask of indifference, so he was sure he failed and Thorne didn't see the message.

However Thorne just stared at his hand and Georgie took it as a sign to continue. He picked up the tweezers from the counter and pulled the trash bin over closer, and began removing the shallowest shards first.

Carefully removing the last shard, he grimaced at how deep the cuts were in Thorne's hand. He set the tweezers in the sink and grabbed the gauze, carefully wrapping it around Thorne's hand, in a thin layer; he knew how annoying it was to have thick layers of gauze on his arm. He doubted Thorne would appreciate that, a reminder of how he let his troubles get to him. But he knew that no matter how innocent it may seem, sometimes he'd hide his deepest secret, letting only the surface show.

Remaining in his seat he watched Thorne, waiting for him to show or say _something._

Blinking at his now gauze-wrapped hand, he stared at it, and looked to the mirror.

Dried blood was dripped along the mirror, and on the back of the mirror, the glue that held the mirror to the surface of the wall was also edged in his blood.

He glanced back at Georgie, and found he was staring at him.

He knew he'd have to answer his questions. Thorne just didn't know how. He didn't want to lose his only friend, as little as he'd show it, Georgie was his reason for living.

He sucked in a shaky breath before looking back up from the ground at Georgie, focusing on his hands, which were rested on his knees.

"Did you know… im a foster child…an orphan?" He asked softly, glancing up at Georgie's face.

"… I guessed as much," Georgie murmured, "your foster parents… they arent very nice, are they?" he asked.

Thorne cast his eyes downward again, "no" he said softly. "They're not."

"Can I ask you something?" Georgie asked.

Thorne didn't look up, merely shrugged his shoulders softly, indicating Georgie could continue. He dreaded what he'd ask- _what happened to your parents?_ And he'd break down, he knew he would. He never showed anyone how he really felt; they'd be concerned, filled with worry. He despised it, people's pity…

"Your foster parents," Georgie said with malice in his voice interrupting Thorne's unpleasant thoughts, "they beat you."

Thorne looked up with wide eyes, "how did you know?"

"Do you remember that night I came over and your wrist was broken?" Georgie asked, raising an eyebrow slightly. Thorne nodded, and Georgie continued, "There were also marks on your neck. They were darker than they had been the day before…' Georgie said, looking into Thorne's eyes.

Thorne stared back, trying to discern what his friend was trying to get at, his eyes swam with different emotions: understanding, anger, and comfort were what he assumed Georgie tried to show.

Georgie felt Thorne's bandaged hand rest atop of his, and looked at him, waiting for his friends' actions.

"Please…" Thorne choked out, he looked to his friend and saw the slight trembling of his friend.

Georgie knew Thorne was asking him to leave the subject alone for now, that he couldn't talk about it right now. Georgie nodded his head.

He knew something was wrong with his friend, something far greater than the life of abuse.

Nodding his head in understanding he saw Thorne relax, his worry seeming to vanish. Georgie sat down next to Thorne and hugged him. He really tried to convey that he cared for Thorne as a brother, an equal. That he'd be there no matter what. He felt Thorne's arms wrap around him as well.

Thorne looked towards his friend, shock on his face, he'd never had someone who knew anything about him. But now he had Georgie. He wrapped his arms around Georgie's small frame in an embrace. Thorne ushered out a small "…thank you…" for_ everything. Brother. But I'm sorry. _

Georgie stood up, and said "I'm here, always, you know that right?" and smiled softly at Thorne. He walked out of the bathroom and into his bedroom before grabbing his bag and climbing back out the window.

Thorne was grateful for his friend, providing comfort in the constant pain of his life. His eyes turned sad as he thought of his friend, he would never see him again. He turned towards the door and walked to his desk, and removed a crisp, white sheet of paper from within the top drawer.

He wrote a note:

_Georgie,_

_I'm sorry. _

_Thank you for being there for me when no one else was. You're my best friend, my brother, my family. _

_Please, don't think it was your fault that you should've been there. You have always been there when I need you. And there are no words I can say that show my thanks._

_Im sorry, I have to do this. I killed my parents. In a car crash, they were drunk and had me drive. I had never driven before…they died. I survived. It's a curse, and I cant live with it any more. It's constantly bearing down on me… the memories, they've come back, they've tormented me, and they've haunted me. I can't live with them anymore. I can't live with the lives of my parents on my conscience, I can't live with any of this guilt... there's too much. Im sorry, Georgie_

_Goodbye my friend, goodbye my brother. _

_-Thorne_

_Every rose has its thorne, yet the thing is: I have no rose. No beauty to take away the pain. Im sharp and draw blood, I should be thrown away in the trash. Yet im not. So I must do this for myself. No one will do it for me. Farewell. _

He took the paper and folded it in half and set it on the counter. He had written 'Georgie' on the folded halves, so his friend would see it when he came to check on him later that night. Thorne stared at the mirror. He blankly stared at the shattered remains. Removing his sweatshirt, he stared at the marked skin of his forearms. He looked at his arms; the slashing scars across his arms only raised lines. He opened the top drawer, removing the object he hadn't used for a long time: his razor.

He let the blade bite his wrist, he didn't feel the pain he should've. He merely smiled the same gruesome smile that adorns his face whenever he thinks of this demise.

He looked down, at the flowing blood that washed down his hands and felt the razor penetrate the walls of his veins, yet he only felt relief. Pushing harder, urging the blade to bite out deeper. He smiled when it did. He closed his eyes, and sunk to the floor, leaning against the wall. The wet crimson liquid formed in pools on the ground, yet he closed his eyes, remembering for the last time.

_It started after he had left the hospital. He had taken a rusty screwdriver his father had been using, the object attracting his attention as he walked through the door of his home for the last time. He remembered the way the dust particles moved through the air, his mother would have cried at the sight that met his eyes, she hated to be unclean. He had climbed the long staircase to his room. He remembered looking around, the fear of the unknown crushing him. He would never have a home again. _

_Gathering the little clothes he would need, he carefully put the screwdriver in his bag of belongings before walking out to the awaiting foster care agent's car._

_At the foster care, he hadn't paid attention to anyone, absorbed in his own world. He remembered stashing his bag on the small bed he had been provided, a lonely cupboard his only other belonging. He had made sure no one was around before he removed the screwdriver and locked himself in the bathroom down the hall. _

_He glared at the murky reflection in the mirror and removed the screwdriver from the confines of his pocket. _

_At fifteen he had killed his parents. He saw red, deep red. He no longer cared. He lashed out with the screwdriver, stabbing himself so many times anywhere he could until finally he collapsed, breathing in pants, the screwdriver still clenched in his hands. _

_He briefly remembered the stricken look his agent had given him and the sound of sirens getting closer before he gave in to the darkness, gladly wrapping it around him. _

_He had woken up in the hospital, with bandages covering the whole of his body._

_He didn't remember much of his stay at the foster agency, only the looks he received from the other foster children. The disgust, the curiosity, the warning to stay away. _

_He remembered living with his grandfather, his only living relative, but soon he died as well. His grandfather, a cheery old man, had died of a heart attack, while accompanying Thorne on the couch in the living room. The empty stare of the old man, he wasn't sure if he imagined the blaming look in his eyes or not, but for Thorne, it was all he needed. In his mind, he had killed his grandfather as well. _

_He had been taken back into the system, and that was when he had taken up the sweet and savage blade. He had made sure it didn't draw attention; he didn't want anyone fussing over a worthless being like himself. It had been not three months since the murder of his parents, and he remembered the accusing glare of the judge._

_The scene changed to the face of his friend, Georgie. Six months later he had moved to Looming Dream, a small town on Destiny Island with the Wakiyama's. He was covered in scars then, and had sworn off his blade, resolving to try and get better_.

_His foster parents had been kind to him for a while. But memories of his bleeding body after the 'lessons' from Mr. Wakiyama flooded his eyes. _

It had for a while, but a year and a half later found him now, lying on the floor of his bathroom, surrounded by his blood, dying.

_I finally get what I deserve_.

He closed his eyes and smiled, looking at the image of Georgie one last time, before darkness overtook him.


End file.
